The human I live with calls me "Tommy Gun." Or "Kitty." Sometimes "Cat." Yeah "cat," but I'm really an alien. Though we got here first and are highly evolved, humans insist on calling us all these names. I think it's because they're unable to call us what we call each other. They can't hear us talk most of the time. We usually use what humans call "telepathy," except in extreme cases. We try other ways to talk to humans. Use "meow" umpteen ways and you'll see how hard it is.
I like my human. She's a beautiful girl calls herself "Mimi" when she's on stage. Yeah "Mimi," and she's definitely human. She's a belly dancer and an excellent one. She can enchant a room full of old humans without even a drum, without even taking off any of her very many veils. She sort of undulates, like a wonderful snake might. But snakes I can eat. Mimi is way bigger than me, plus I want her to live. I won't kill her. She feeds me so I won't bring a dead snake indoors. Again.
She'll sing, "Tommy! Oh, Tommy!" and of course I'm right under her favorite chair. She doesn't look there. Ever.
She'll sing again, "Kitty! Oh, Kitty!" but I stay put. I'm never sure what she wants. Sometimes she puts me in a little box to go somewhere and I hate that. I only leave when I hear 'cat' food hit the bowl she uses for me. Then I'm there in a fraction of a second. Mimi always says, "OH! Tommy! You bad boy. You scared me half to death!"
You'd think she'd know the routine now, but Mimi forgets a lot of things. Sometimes I have to make sure she doesn't forget to take care of me. I'm very ancient even for an alien. I'm 3,194.3 alien years old. Humans call that eleven. Pfft. I'm mostly black with some white around the eyes, and yes, my eyes really glow in the dark. I'm missing half an ear because this dog caught me one night in a dark alley. That's when Mimi caught me, too. I like her, though.
Tonight she tells me she's going with some very famous rock band to dance with them.
Mimi says they're called "The Loosest BanDage."
"With a capital 'D,' get it?" she snorts. Mimi tends to snort instead of laugh.
"That makes them LBDs, like little black dresses!" I wish she'd stop snorting. This is serious.
"I love it!" she says. "Oh Tommy, your Mimi's going a long way this time! They have a tour set up and everything! They play songs I hear on the radio! Tommy Gun, they saw me dance at Still's, and they said, 'We need a belly dancer. We need you. Would you like to join us?' and I said, 'You betcha!' and they said... Oh. Poor kitty! Did I hurt ooo widdle feewings?"
No, lady. You didn't. You sound like an idiot and I know you're not. After all, you shelter and feed old aliens. Namely me. Which makes me wonder, who will do that now? I ask her. I jump in her lap and purr and everything. I may be black, but I doubt I'm part of a 'little black dress.' She pets my head and gets that one spot I can't reach anymore.
"You're coming with me, silly kitty," she says. "I'd never leave you behind, widdle oochi-koo--"
With the best gratitude we ever display, I ignore her the rest of the night.